


Jack of All Trades

by IronicSnap



Category: Zootopia (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - British, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Military, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen, Spies & Secret Agents, Vignette, i am AMAZED ''British'' is an accepted AU tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-17
Updated: 2018-04-17
Packaged: 2019-04-24 09:02:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14352282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronicSnap/pseuds/IronicSnap
Summary: The mammal, the myth, the cut concept character. It can be hard to include a superspy bunny when prejudice against rabbits is such a fundamental part of the finished film. Worry not: these vignettes offer possible alternatives in depicting the gun-bun (and his partner, who is Scottish) for the discerning Savage enthusiast.





	Jack of All Trades

"Damn good work, kid! Not that I expect anything less from my best agent!"

The rabbit remained impassive, even as the chief beamed at him from somewhere within a dense cloud of cigar smoke. His only reaction was to dip his head, his voice controlled and husky. "Thank you, sir. Just doing my job."

"Always professional, aren'tcha? You'd think stopping half a dozen supervillains would give a fella a swelled head, but here we are. You're a real asset, no two ways about it."

"I appreciate the support, sir," said the rabbit. Mostly to be polite. He knew he wasn't supposed to reject compliments, even if he disagreed.

The chief extinguished his cigar in his ornate ashtray. "Full debrief will be held in an hour." He grinned. "But for the moment, there's someone in the hallway waiting for you – and it's never polite to keep a lady waiting, son."

He blinked – then nodded. "I see. In that case, we'll reconvene at the briefing, sir."

"That we will. Dismissed!"

The rabbit hopped off the chair he was standing on. The chief opened the office door for him, ushering him into the corridor with a wave.

And there she was.

Skye hovered uncertainly by the wall, but when she met his sharp blue eyes, she visibly relaxed. The chief shut the door, leaving her smiling quietly at him.

"You're still here," he said. More an observation than a question.

"I am," she said softly. "They haven't sent me home yet. I thought I'd stick with you, if that's alright."

"Hm."

Barely more than a grunt. Not the friendliest reply. But she knew what ' _Hm_ ' meant. She had learned his taciturn language over the last four days. ' _Hm_ ' was a particularly important sentiment, first translated just after the second time they had saved each other's lives.

So when he said ' _Hm_ ' and began striding down the corridor, she followed.

He kept those blue eyes forward, but he cleared his throat. "...The cafeteria isn't much. But you might like the coffee."

"Let's give it a go," she said with a quiet smirking. "Lead on."

Mammals far larger – who looked considerably more dangerous – stayed out of the rabbit's path. Skye found herself in a comfortable bubble of respect. Some nodded to him, but most gave looks of silent awe.

Skye was eager to break the silence. "So, do you do this often?"

"Drink coffee?"

"No. Save the world."

"I've completed a number of significant assignments," he said, as thought it was another bullet-point on his résumé.

She shook her head, lost somewhere between amazement and amusement. "Your family must be so proud of you..."

"They think I'm an accountant."

He said it so casually. He didn't treat it as some shocking secret, but that only shocked her more.

"They – they do?"

"Of course. My career requires utmost discretion." He glanced over his shoulder to her. "You think I would entrust state secrets to civilians, just because I'm related to them?"

"I... obviously I didn't think you told them everything, but..." She winced. "Seriously? An accountant?"

"Yes."

He seemed satisfied ending the discussion there. But she had to ask.

"...Doesn't it bother you?"

"Does what?"

"The secrecy. The fact that, y'know..." Her eyes were low. "Nobody knows about you. All you've done."

This corridor was empty. She wouldn't feel comfortable pressing him about this in earshot of his colleagues. She only felt she could discuss it at all because of how close they'd become on the island.

"I just... well, people would treat rabbits with a lot more respect if they knew about even half the things you've accomplished."

He stopped. She stopped too. He seemed to be processing her question. Or perhaps he was just working out how to express what he already felt.

When he spoke, it was with an air of finality. "Maybe someday they'll be rabbit soldiers and politicians and... I don't know, police officers."

Skye smiled softly. "With wee little badges."

"Mmh." He didn't smile back. "But that day isn't today. Nor tomorrow. Assuming it happens at all, it won't be soon." He turned away. "Forgive me for focusing on the present."

With that, he kept striding. Skye watched him for a moment, at a loss, but soon followed.

Jack Savage. Just another rabbit history forgot.

* * *

"Zootopia," said the rabbit, straightening his tie, "is a load of bollocks."

"'ey," said Skye, shooting him a look. "Language, lad."

"Sorry, love." He smirked up at her. "I'm passionate, that's all."

Her glare faltered – she could never stay mad at him. Not with those bright blue eyes. "You're forgiven. For now. What's brought this on?"

"A poster back there." They continued down the tunnel. The air was cool this far underground. "' _Come visit scenic Zootopia'_. No bloody thank you. I think I'd rather eat a shoe."

Skye's eyes were on the passing commuters, but she had always been good at multitasking. The crowd was already thinning. They passed the major train lines and kept walking, heading for the back of the station. "Do you have strong opinions about the stupidity of other mammals? I'm shocked."

"I do indeed!" he declared. "I mean, I don't pretend this country is perfect..." He trailed off, nodding to a wall. "Case in point."

Someone, evidently with too much time and too few hobbies, had spraypainted thick black words against the grey tiling. The graffiti stretched across the wall, loud and ugly.

**PISS OFF BACK TO THE DESSERT**

"Mmh," said Skye, eyelids low. "Though I suppose illiterate xenophobes are something of a universal constant."

"Maybe so," said the rabbit. "Fact is, we have our own problems. But we're  _trying!_  Things aren't so bad. You and I are testament to that, I'd say."

"A tad myopic, perhaps. But yes. You have a point."

The bustle of commuters grew steadily quieter as they made a series of odd turns. Skye kept vigilant, ensuring they weren't being followed. She knew her partner was doing the same, even as he rambled on.

"And Interpol's great for diversity! Talented mammals of all stripes and spots. Remember that vixen we worked with last year?"

"Inspector Fox!" said Skye, with a touch of worship in her voice. "She was amazing..."

"That she was. But in Zootopia, she'd be lucky to be a librarian. Let alone a police officer of that standing."

Skye just shook her head in reply.

With a final turn, they came to their destination; a corridor that seemed to lead nowhere. In any metropolis, corners tended to fill. But there were no hapless tourists double-checking a map, no homeless mammals huddled up against the walls. A slice of silence under the city.

They went to the far wall. Skye kept watch as her partner slide back a tile, humming to himself as he effortlessly hammered a 16-digit passcode into a keypad.

The wall opened. They got into the elevator behind it. The wall closed. And they went down.

A few seconds passed in comfortable silence, but Skye knew he wasn't done. She smirked quietly when, unprompted, he burst back into his rant.

"See, I'd be a lot more forgiving of Zootopia if they were honest about their issues. But no! They're oblivious! Constantly patting themselves on the back, claiming to be the happiest place on earth. And why?" He sniffed. "Because they built a big wall that's  _also_  an air conditioner. Wow. Fabulous. Never mind the fact you never had a rabbit  _or_  a fox as a regular police officer until last year.  _And_  the poor fools had to jump through hoops to get there. That's just details, yeah?"

"It's the big wall that's important."

"Apparently. Bloody apparently."

The elevator arrived, and they stepped out into a gleaming white lobby bustling with mammals. They nodded to a few as they passed, but didn't slow. It wasn't wise to keep the director waiting.

They found her in her office. Panels on the walls and ceilings simulated the skyline above, improbably cloudless. An ebony desk dominated the back of the room, and she sat in the dead centre, reviewing paperwork.

The mouse glanced up, then smiled. "Good morning, agents. Pleasant commute?"

"As ever, ma'am!" he beamed. Skye watched her partner unconsciously adjust his cufflinks. He always tried to look his best in this office. "What's the crisis this time?"

"The crisis is Ratigan."

Trading her papers for a remote control, the director indicated the panels behind her. With a press of a button, nine of the screens changed to display the rat. Footage of black-tie galas played next to grainy CCTV feeds of back-alley deals.

"We've gotten intel regarding his next plan. You two are going to nip it in the bud."

"Cracking!" The rabbit rubbed his hands together. "I'm always up for a bit of bud-nipping. And I owe the blighter for Bermuda."

"Budapest," corrected Skye. "Bermuda was Shere Khan."

"Ah, right you are. Suppose they all start to blend together after a bit, eh?" He turned back to the director. "So? Where is he?"

"Zootopia."

He stared. "Z...Zootopia?"

"Yes. You're both booked for the next flight there. You will liaise with Chief Bogo of Precinct One as your local contact. And before you ask:  _yes_ , that's the precinct with the internet-famous Officers Hopps and Wilde, and  _yes_ , I assume Bogo won't miss the opportunity to introduce you. Any questions?"

"...Permission to speak freely, ma'am?"

"If it's just so you can swear," said the director, "no."

The rabbit grimaced, buck teeth biting his lip, and let out a long, slow breath like a dying kettle. Skye couldn't hide the amusement in her eyes. Finally, he found the word he was looking for.

"...Heck."

Jack Savage. International mammal of mystery.

* * *

"The deal's set."

Wolf O'Donnell sat in his usual booth, claws clinking against his mostly-empty glass of cheap beer. He kept his cellphone pressed against his ear with his other hand.

"Yeah. Yeah, it's all ready. First thing tomorrow at the usual spot." His eye narrowed. "I don't care about your  _nose_. You can stomach the fish for five minutes. Breathe through your mouth, dumbass."

He leaned back, letting go of his glass to adjust his eyepatch. He watched a nearby janitor mop the floor, his face impassive.

"Nah. I won't be there. Panther will handle the transaction." Another flash of irritation. "If you trust  _me_ , you trust him. That's how it works. I don't need to drag myself out of bed before sunrise just to handle a routine sale of..." Remembering he was in public, he stopped himself. He glanced around, but the other booths were empty. "Merchandise," he finished simply.

He took a sip of his beer, frowned, and promptly put it back down.

"I don't need a reason. I've had a long day, and I have an arrangement with myself that once a week I get to sleep in. I got an apartment in the Meadowlands district and it is  _so_  boring. Dead silence past nine pm. It's beautiful. Only place in this damn city I can hear myself think."

His gaze wandered back to the janitor. Still focused on mopping. Wolf felt some vague sense of camaraderie – everyone's just trying to make a buck – but his attention was soon back to the conversation.

"Smart choice. Glad we could do business. Panther will handle the rest – ciao."

He hung up. As he stood, he bumped the table, and his glass toppled over. His beer spilled sloppily to the floor.

Wolf paused. Briefly. "Hey, fluff!" he called. "You missed a spot."

He strode out of the bar, leaving the rabbit to deal with the mess.

He contained the spill in under sixty seconds. Then he took Wolf's empty glass to the bar, handing it to the vixen behind the counter.

His dull blue eyes met hers. "I'm going on break," he said.

"Sounds good." Skye glanced up – no customers. "I'll join you, if you don't mind."

"Please."

After a quick sweep confirming there was no-one in the bathrooms – and, for the sake of thoroughness, the tiny supply closet – Skye stuck a well-worn piece of paper to the front door, announcing a five minute closure for cleaning. She locked the door. And bolted it.

At the bar, the rabbit took out a cellphone with no contacts and dialled a number from memory. Skye joined him, sitting close enough to hear the phone.

After precisely two rings, the call went through. "This is Clean Slate Cleaning Supplies. How can I direct your query?"

"I have an urgent order," said the rabbit. "My tie press is broken."

"I see." There was no change in tone as the code phrase was returned. "How long can your establishment wait?"

"Not long. An important customer is waiting for a tie."

The line went silent. After a few seconds, the reroute was complete, and a far gruffer voice appeared.

"Report. Now."

"The deal is going ahead, sir. It's scheduled for dawn tomorrow."

"Where?"

"The abandoned warehouse on the Tundra Town docks. O'Donnell mentioned the smell of fish. Of the locations we've already established, the warehouse is the only one that fits."

"Yes. Anything else?"

The rabbit frowned. "O'Donnell won't be there personally. He's spending the morning at his Meadowlands residence. Panther Caroso will be overseeing the transaction."

"I see."

There was a pause. The rabbit was still, eyes forward. Skye resisted the urge to pat him on the shoulder.

Finally, the voice spoke. "Alright. Excellent work. We'll move in at dawn. Just a shame O'Donnell won't be present."

"Well, sir," said the rabbit, "it may be possible to ambush him tonight. He's taking the morning to sleep in. His guard will be down."

Another pause. But this one was thoughtful. "Not the worst idea, rabbit. But we can't. There's no-one in the area I could spare."

"I-if I may suggest, sir–"

Skye cringed, knowing what was coming next.

"–Skye and I could do it."

"Are you kidding me?!"

"No, sir! Never!" Skye heard the quaver in his voice, and her heart twisted. He always tried so hard. Too hard. "It's just – O'Donnell will skip town anyway once he hears the deal was blown. There's no harm in trying!"

"For the last  **time** , cottontail! We've discussed this. You're not a retrieval agent. You'll never  _be_  a retrieval agent. Your job is to stand in corners like the insignificant little bunny you are and put those big, floppy ears to good use. You think I'd jeopardize that by giving you a gun?

His eyes were shut now. Screwed up. "...No sir."

"That's right. Dismissed. Both of you."

The line went dead.

The rabbit let out a shaky breath, dropping the phone onto the bar. Skye's ears lowered in sympathy.

"I'm sorry he treats you like that. But he's right. You're most useful as you are."

She leaned over, one hand on his shoulder. Their eyes met, and she gave him a smile.

"Take it from me, little guy. Try to find happiness where you are. Some dreams are just that – dreams."

"Perhaps you're right," he said, but she knew he didn't believe her. He never did. There was nothing anyone could say to dissuade him, for better or worse.

Silently, he slid off the stool and went back to work. Skye watched him, taking a moment before re-opening the bar.

She knew he would never stop. He would keep training. Waiting for his moment.

And one day, Jack Savage would get his chance.

* * *

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* * *

Geoffrey stared into the makeup mirror. Two tired (but very, very handsome) blue eyes gazed back.

They had wrapped up for the day. But for Geoffrey, it would only be a brief respite. All he wanted was to head home and crawl into his very expensive bed – firm mattress, silk sheets, several times too large for a rabbit to allow maximum limb-splaying (and various other applications). But he couldn't. Tonight, he had a talkshow.

Geoffrey used to  _love_  talkshows. The thrill of the live audience and the huge invisible crowds behind them. But that was years ago.

Before that bloody spy ruined everything.

There was a gentle rap at the door, and he felt an icy jolt of fear. Before he could muster a protest, someone was already entering his dressing room. He cringed, preparing best he could to be whisked away. But when he saw the intruder in the mirror, he relaxed. Just his co-star.

The last time he had seen her, she was wearing the ridiculous (and ridiculously orange) diving suit her character Skye used to infiltrate the titular Island of Doctor Meow. Now she was in an elegant lilac dress. If she had already changed, he must have lost track of time. It felt he had only just sat down.

"Hey there. Almost ready?" she said, ignoring the obvious.

"Uh..." Geoffrey glanced down to his shirt, which he had been halfway through unbuttoning when he had zoned out. He had already been wearing a suit, and the talkshow appearance required a suit, but obviously it couldn't be the same suit. Obviously.

She nodded to his wardrobe. Dressing rooms shouldn't have full wardrobes, really. Geoffrey knew that was a bad sign. There was furniture in here. He was part of it.

"Glad I caught you before you finished," she was saying. "I just wanted to suggest a matching tie, now that you've seen what I'm wearing." She gave him a little smirk. "We're meant to be a team, aye?"

Geoffrey nodded. "Right. Yes. I'll do that."

She frowned, drawing closer. "You alright, Geoff?"

He managed a smile. He was an actor, after all. "Oh, I'm fine. Just... tired, I suppose. A bit frazzled."

She nodded sympathetically. "Tell me about it..."

After a moment, she beamed down at him. It seemed genuine. But she was an actor too.

"Well, chin up. Only eight months of filming to go!"

"Yeah," said Geoffrey. "We're practically there... Until the next one."

"Until the next one," she nodded. "I'll see you in the car, okay? And try not to dawdle! You know how the producers get when you're late."

With a final smile, and a squeeze of his shoulder, she was gone.

Geoffrey turned back to the mirror. At least he was himself again. They had removed those ridiculous black stripes from his fur, leaving clean grey. But everyone in the audience would be picturing him with them. Ignoring what he was saying.

He knew he shouldn't complain. He was rich! He was famous! He had achieved his dreams, and plenty of young mammals would kill for what he had.

But goddammit, he was  _sick_  of playing Jack Savage.

* * *

He was coming back her way.

Skye was curious, but there wasn't much point trying to catch up when the running track was, in fact, circular. Engineers are efficient by nature. So she folded her arms and watched the rabbit jog back towards her.

She didn't know if was wrapping up anyway, or took her presence as an excuse. He slowed as he reached her, fixed her a breathless smile, and stopped.

She took the initiative. "Hiya, rookie. Why're you still running laps?"

"...Sarge says... I'm too slow!" He absently wiped sweat from his brow, brushing his paw onto his fatigues. "I said... 'With respect ma'am... I'm probably... the fastest one here.'" The rabbit looked up, giving her a grin. "She said... 'Prove it!'"

She chuckled. "So here you are."

"Here I... am!  _Hoo_..."

He leaned back, fists against his spine. Skye watched him, her dark eyes sparkling.

"Were you given specific instructions on when to stop?"

"No, ma'am," he said huskily. "Just set to this by myself."

"Well, I think you've had enough. You've learned your lesson by now. It's getting close to sundown." She stepped back, nodding toward the centre of camp. "Where's your bunk? Infantry barracks?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"C'mon, then. I'll walk you back."

"I'd like that," he said with another grin. "Much obliged. Ma'am."

She enjoyed his grins.

They set off briskly. One did not amble through a military installation. Skye hoped she wasn't moving too quickly for him, but he seemed to have already recovered his stamina.

"So, rookie. What's your story?"

"Simple, ma'am!" he replied. "I want to be a spy! And that means I'm aiming to join the Special Forces – most spies are recruited straight from their ranks. In the meantime, I'm learning everything I can. Languages, stealth, cryptography, interpersonal psychology, advanced driving–"

"Ballroom dancing?" she smirked.

"I, um – no. Not yet, anyway."

"You'll get to it, I'm sure." She shrugged. "And you'll be in good shape for it too, at this rate."

He chuckled. "I guess so!"

"Though you seem to be pretty fit already, judging from how quickly you bounced back from those laps. I take it you were training a lot before the army accepted you?"

"I was, yeah!" he said. "It's easy to find the time when you've got a clear goal. Judy Hopps says that a lot. She trained for police academy since she was nine."

Skye nodded sagely. "I didn't want to say it, in case you took offence. But I had a feeling you might be a fan of Hopps."

"Oh, I'm  _more_  than just a fan!" he declared, and then blinked, as though only realizing how the words sounded when they hit the air.

"...Is that so?" Skye purred.

"Uh, y-yeah! It's just – I mean, it's nothing."

She smirked, dark eyes gleaming. "It's grand, little buddy. You chose well. If you're gonna have a celebrity crush on anybody..."

"N-no! It's not like that!" His ears wilted – Skye could almost  _taste_  how hard he was blushing. "Well, it –  _mightbeslightlylikethat_  – but!"

This was amusing, but cruel. Satisfied with her fun, Skye helped him out of the hole he had dug for himself. "Relax, relax. A gent like you would be more interested in her accomplishments, aye?"

"Aye! I mean – yes!" The blush began to recede – Skye suspected he was fighting it off by sheer force of will. "After all, everybody should know about the woman who took down Dawn Bellwether."

Skye shook her head. One ear twitched in disgust. "Gosh, that Bellwether... what a piece of work. How long ago was that now? Six years?"

"Closer to seven! And that's not counting all the cases since then. The Nope Diamond, the Phantasm, the Andrew Ross incident..."

Skye gave an impressed grunt. "You know your stuff! I only could've named one of those..."

"And best of all, she's still keeping Zootopia safe! She's a detective now, of course."

"And so's her pet fox," smirked Skye. "I know that much, at least."

"Yeah! The two of them, still together after all this time!"

The gravel crunched under their feet. For a moment, there was an appreciative silence. As though, even from thousands of miles away, Hopps and Wilde would sense the compliment. How much they meant to mammals everywhere.

They must know already.

The rabbit let out a light sigh. "She's been an inspiration to me for years. She showed the world anyone can be anything – that  _rabbits_  can be anything!" He looked up to Skye. "And I'm gonna be a spy!"

"Well, here's a tip, Mister Spy – maybe don't go around shouting that."

He scratched his head, grinning sheepishly. "Heh, yeah..."

They came to the barracks. Skye straightened her spine and snapped a stiff salute. He returned it, smiling softly.

He started up the stairs. The steps were too large for him, but he seemed undaunted. Skye realized something before he got far.

"Oh! I never caught your name." She offered a paw. "I'm Skye. Part of the engineering corps."

"Pleasure meeting you!"

He took her paw firmly, beaming at her. Despite his youth, Skye saw something powerful in his shining blue eyes.

"Private Jack Savage, at your service! Get used to hearing that name!"

* * *

They killed her.

They had gotten away with it, too. He had always known the police were useless. He didn't need it proven in her rotting blood.

That meter maid, that Hopps, had been tokenism. A crowd-pleasing move, meaningless. She was as useless as any other cop.

Ah, but that was anger talking. She had gotten results, hadn't she? Alone. With her own effort. She had shattered protocol, even quit the force. And she got results.

Great minds think alike.

The apartment was a mess. There was no point cleaning it any more. Food packets and loose papers crinkled under his paws like dead autumn leaves.

He opened the closet, pushed aside her coats, and squatted down to his safe.

One of his safes. One of two. One safe for them. Another, separate safe for the ammunition. He was responsible. Or he had been. Until now.

He blew through the combination with practised ease, pulling the door open. He crouched there for a moment. Surveyed his arsenal.

Smith and Weasel Model 686 revolver. Six chambers, .357 magnum rounds. Accurate and reliable.

Bearetta PX4 Storm pistol. 9 bullets per magazine, .45 auto rounds. Fast with low recoil.

Ramington R-25 GII hunting rifle. 4 bullets per magazine, .308 Wolfchester rounds. Surprisingly light for its stopping power.

He took them all.

It was hard to get models built for mammals his size. But this was his hobby. This was what he spent his disposable income on. This, and her. Now both.

He remembered. The looks he got at the range. They never went away. Even after years. Always a sense of discomfort.

The clerk at the license office saying ' _Are you sure you're not lost, little guy? Tractors are the next department over._ '

That had been his entire life. Every time he tried something different, something even slightly unusual, he was met with those looks. The surprise. The uneasy confusion. Ridicule.

She had been the only one who ever treated him with respect. From the day they first met, she respected him. No smirks. No jokes. No back-handed compliments. She took him seriously.

And they killed her.

He holstered the pistols, slung the rifle on his back, and shut the safe. He didn't bother locking it. No point.

The ammunition safe was under the bed, a bed which suddenly felt far too large. He gathered up all the ammunition he had. He didn't own much. His local range sold it on-site. He only kept enough for self-defence.

He hadn't been there. He couldn't save her. So this was his only solace. He counted every bullet he had, vowing to make each one count.

He had no armour. No point. He kept his activities to the range. So he owned no kevlar, no real protection.

He would be fast, then. Fast and quiet.

Dress for utility. His long black coat with many pockets. Spread his ammunition around his person. No backpack. Faster.

But what under it? Didn't feel right doing this in a stained vest.

...He wore the suit. She always liked the suit.

Once his buttons were buttoned and his tie was tied and cufflinks were in place, he felt prepared. He double-checked every weapon, then shrugged on the coat.

As he headed for the door, he caught himself in the mirror. Two burning blue coals stared back at him.

They would pay for their crimes in blood. He was ready.

One way or another, Jack Savage would be on the news tonight.


End file.
